


Embrace of Cold

by Snowy_Rain



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst and Tragedy, Angst galore, Blizzards & Snowstorms, Character Death, Gen, M/M, Prompt Fic, do not copy to another site, no fluff?, okay minimal meager amount of fluff, whump hard baby
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-07
Updated: 2019-10-07
Packaged: 2020-11-26 15:40:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20932643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snowy_Rain/pseuds/Snowy_Rain
Summary: Harry was locked out.It was starting to snow.





	Embrace of Cold

**Author's Note:**

  * For [skittykitty](https://archiveofourown.org/users/skittykitty/gifts).

> Harry freezes to death.
> 
> From discord prompt channel, “Harry freezes to death and the horcrux feels it, so it sends him all his feelings of love and happiness before he dies”
> 
> :)))

Harry arrived late in the evening. By the time he had noticed the cold, the snow had begun to fall. In rivulets of harsh winds, in sharp, crystalline forms of its flakes…

His breath had burned as he ran to the house. Despite the deathly chill in the air, he felt heated - he was sizzling with the undertone of dread inside him. His legs hurt, his arms hurt, and he couldn’t  _ breathe. _

No one was out. There was only the cold, the snowfall and himself, rushing through the empty street road. When he had noticed -  _ goosebumps on his arms, the darkness of the sky, the blackened clouds thundering above _ \- the only thing he could think had been the image of his aunt’s grim face, the cruel sneer on her lips as she closed the door on his face.

_ In winter’s first snowstorm? _

He stumbled onto the front porch and righted himself, nearly colliding with the door from his haste. Glueing himself to the wooden surface, he knocked thunderously, teeth chattering from cold sweat.

“ _ Aunt Petunia,”  _ he tried to call, but his voice had gone out. With hysteria, he realized they might have gone to bed, seeing the weather. When he tried to scream for her, his throat gave out and spilled with a flurry of coughs.

He stood there knocking for tens of minutes, fingers unfeeling after so much time out. He tried to make a fist - _ to knock, at least  _ \- but all his fingers did was curl;  _ so slightly, so pathetically.  _ Harry wanted to cry, to sob loud enough that the entire neighborhood would wake up, loud like Dudley -  _ he was panicking now, he rubbed along the length of his arms, up to his shoulders  _ \- but what if his relatives didn’t wake up?

What if they left him out for the night?

All at once, the fear from his run came back with a vengeance. His heart constricted, and he -  _ slowly  _ \- let himself collapse on the porch; breath shallow, cold and tight.

Desperate. Helpless.  _ Cold, so  _ ** _cold. _ ** _ The shivers hurt. _

***

Thinking back, Harry knew with a pinpoint accuracy that his family  _ loathed  _ him.

It was a moment so natural, so  _ inevitable,  _ that he hadn’t even been upset. He had certainly hated them since then, as well. 

But he hadn’t thought about it much, and the full consequences of that state of mind the Dursleys had. Because they  _ hated him -  _ and not in the petty, childish sense of hate Harry knew.

The Dursleys were ready to  _ spit  _ in his grave.

***

And  _ yet. _

_ This had, without logic, had happened as an absolute surprise - Harry could have never  _ ** _imagined _ ** _ hatred like this. _

And why?

Why would Aunt Petunia leave him to this terrible cold?

What had Harry done to deserve it?

_ Why Harry? _

“ _ Why me, _ ” he whispered against the icy breeze tussling his hair. As he muttered, a puff of steam left his mouth, disappearing into the veil of snowflakes.

Icicles had begun to form, Harry saw with an out-of-sorts eye. His glasses had frosted over a while ago, but enough space remained clear that he could see the minute details.

The clouds rolled over each other and rumbled, like the groans of large, industrial metal machines - like the grinding of monster gears, rusty from years of abandonment. In the distance, he could see darker ones coming.

In the meantime, the snow hadn’t let off. Harry was buried up to his hips in a layer of shimmering, bright white. He took a handful of it, and took a curious bite. The cold hurt his teeth, but it was nice. The only nice part of the night. Snow tasted wonderful.

***

_ But inside, something stirred.  _

_ He. A ‘he.’ _

_ He awakened. _

_ And he  _ ** _drowned-_ **

_ Harry Potter. _

_ His vessel. The protector of his soul, and the pathetically mundane, pathetically weak, pathetically sad little child he  _ ** _loved._ **

_ Harry was not a particularly strong child, if he said so. Willful, yes - but he was never as durable as the children his age.  _ ** _He _ ** _ saw that.  _ ** _He _ ** _ knew that. _

_ Harry  _ ** _didn’t_ ** _ . _

_ Harry still believed himself someone capable, someone dependable. _

_ Someone righteous. Someone able. _

_ Still a  _ ** _child. _ **

_ But nothing could have prepared him for the  _ ** _cold, _ ** _ for the piercing stab of  _ ** _death _ ** _ seeping slowly into his bloodstream, into the crevices of his organs - settling in, finding home - and  _ ** _taking him to sleep._ **

_ Harry would not feel pain. _

** _He _ ** _ would. _

_ Because Harry - no matter how weak, how pathetic, how utterly, despicably  _ ** _unworthy _ ** _ he was - he was never meant to die. _

_ Not Harry. _

***

The snow wasn’t cold anymore.

It piled high up his shoulders now - he had been soaked to his bones for a long, long time now. The cold had passed. He couldn’t feel his skin anymore. His vision went blurry, mind foggy. In his ears was only the breath of the storm, the heavy wind obstructed by the snow on his body, around his neck.

Teeny, little puffs of breath. A smell of flowers and seared oak. A flash of bright green - the one he would see in his wayward dreams. 

A slow shiver down his spine.

Something stirred in his head.

And  _ happiness. _

_ Warm like the sun, sweet like candy - greener than grass and bluer than the brightest sky… _

_ A whisper of deep baritone, a fond little gasp of plea… _

_ ...‘Harry,’ it said. _

_ And the cacophony of love, joy and light stopped. _

_ And the shivers in his heart stopped. _

_ And the cold of the snow stopped. _

_ And the tearful, beautiful happiness in him left with the last puff of his breath. _

** _Harry, _ ** _ it said. _

** _I love you._ **

Harry’s corpse froze black in the snowstorm, the dark night. On his cheek was  _ one, peaceful  _ teardrop; left alone, cold, buried in brutal snow, and filled with the only joy in his short life.


End file.
